Days of Future Past
by Celestialdome
Summary: Memories can be tricky things. But even they have guidelines. Little did the Doctor know that memories can only be created, not destroyed. Should someone attempt to forcibly evict them, they go and find another home.
1. I: Morning Glory

AN: I have resisted writing/posting this for the longest time mainly because I'm very much a proper cannon supporter. But I decided that since the story arcs including Pete's World, where this takes place, is officially wrapped up, I'm well justified in having this little literary adventure.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Doctor Who or any recognizable characters, places, or objects. Though as I'm facing my first year of college I get the feeling that it'll be a shame that the blue police call posts on campus aren't boxes and don't travel in time and space.

So. Allons-y?

* * *

><p>Doctor Who: Days of Future Past<p>

By: Celestialdome

I

Morning Glory

The first time was an accident.

Donna Noble bolted from bed with a solitary thought in her head, _I need to get to the TARDIS_. As she flew down the hall, down the stairs, nearly slid into the banister of the landing, she conveniently did not realize that she had no idea as to what a TARDIS was nor why she felt this frightened compulsion to get to it. "Whoa there!"

Donna skidded to a stop in the lower level hallway and stared blankly at the man who had addressed her. Dressed in dress trousers and a crisp oxford and trying not to upset the delicate balance of his coffee mug. Blonde, almost a shade of honey hair slightly swept across a not-quite-wide forehead. Eyes that were almost the bluest blue, she knows what _really is_ the bluest blue, study her as thin lips that had worked themselves into a concerned line open to speak, "Donna, sweetheart, are you ok?"

Funny thing is, this man looked and sounded like her _father_. She couldn't help but wonder if this is how Rose

Wait. Her father.

This man was her father.

"Yeah. Had a …" what? Memory? It felt like the right word, but she couldn't remember what she was supposed to remember. Something about… "Nightmare," she finished lamely. He considered her for a moment more and felt her forehead before feeling satisfied with her response.

"Well then, make sure the boys get their lunches and get off to school," he started heading towards the door and then spun on his heel, facing her again, "Oh, and the permission slips are clipped to the ice box."

Donna smiled fondly, "Dad you're beginning to sound like Mum." Her father adopted a saddened look for a moment and then brightened. He bid her a farewell and left.

Wandering into the kitchen, she glanced at the stove clock. 5 AM, a whole hour too early to wake her brothers up and not enough time to go back to sleep. She helps herself to the remains of her father's pot of coffee, grimaces at the bitter taste and adds milk and sugar. Leaning against the counter, she made a mental list of what needed to get done. Having graduated from university, she supposed she should get a job. That meant making a trip to the job centre. Now there was a displeasing thought.

"If you keep your face contorted like that, you'll die alone and young!" Donna was shocked out of her reverie.

"Oi!" she shrieked. "I make sure you all get off to school, and this is all the thanks I get?" she teased. She ignores the roll of the eyes that responded to her question and starts making two lunches.

The other young man who had come down shortly after his twin tried to intervene, "Donna, sis, we can make our own lunches, we are 13 after all."

Donna gave an un-lady-like snort.

"If I left the two of you to your own devices, your lunches would be made of snack cakes and your socks would be mismatched." At least one of them had the decency to look abashed.

"Donna, surely you kid!" A pale hand flew to his forehead, providing sharp contrast to his ginger hair. How they ended up with red hair in a family chock full of blondes and brunettes, was beyond Donna. The teenager continued with his sob story, turning to address his mirror image, "It wounds me so to think that sister has no faith in us, brother of mine!" The other shook his head in mock solemn agreement. Donna simply shook her head grateful that at least the twin terrors could get themselves dressed with matching socks.

"I'll give you points for being able to wear two white socks at the same time, kid. But not enough to let you make your own lunch," she relented, handing the two brown-paper sacks to boys. Once the lunches were safely deposited into backpacks, she nearly all but pushed them out the door and on their way to school.

With this finished, Donna was able to focus on the next task of the day, getting herself ready to face the day.

Showered and dressed, Donna emptied the rest of the coffee down the drain and set the mug and carafe to be washed when somebody came home. And with an oddly optimistic mind-set, she stepped out the door and into the not-so-quite bustling streets of Cheswick.

But she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was missing something.

Something big.

Something _blue_.

* * *

><p>It was with a large amount of confusion, a twinge of anticipation, and a healthy dose of skepticism that Doctor John Smith found himself walking towards the local hardware store.<p>

His, _wonderful, beautiful, fantastic, brilliant,_ wife had nearly shoved him out the door with the near impossible mission of finding the smallest screwdriver known to any-kind. It had been rather suspicious that the moment he tried to walk down the corridor that would lead him to the engineering and technical department of Torchwood that the very person he was looking to find would intercept him and ask him a favor.

Not to mention that she had been working later and later than usual the past couple of weeks. When he inquired as to the reason and if she needed help, she just gave him that _devastating, cheeky, foxy_ tongue-n-teeth smile and simply say, "spoilers".

But anyways, when his pink-and-yellow wife asked him to do something, even if it was as domestic as running down the street to get a screwdriver, he did it. After all, he had once told her, "your wish is my command. But be careful what you wish for."

So engrossed in trying to put he almost-Time-Lord brain to the task of unraveling his wife's, _he just now realized how nice, how perfect that sounded_, intentions he missed the young almost-blond-almost-brunette woman who passed him. He missed how her greenish-hazel eyes went oddly blank. He missed her abrupt stop in her determined stride. Had missed the sharp spin that oriented her line of sight with the back of his head. Which was a shame, he enjoyed people watching, he had gotten quite good at it. Would have been able to realize that the not-quite-blonde-hazel human had remembered something.

And been prepared for what came out of her mouth next.

"Oi! Sunshine! Think you can just see me without saying hello, Space man?"

It had sounded quite like a friend he had lost a while ago. Someone who, for her own safety, should not remember anything right now. Put perhaps, just maybe…

Sounded quite like…

But as he turned around, he was sorely disappointed.

It was not the lightly ginger temp from Cheswick he knew. It was merely a young woman, perhaps a little over twenty one. A young woman who look terribly confused. Terribly confused and horribly, horribly mortified.

She stuttered out a quick and jumbled, "S…S…Sorry, so sorry sir, I..I don't know what came over me." He was about to try to assure her it was quite alright and perhaps diffuse the small scene that had developed when she bolted.


	2. Here it Goes Again

AN: 'Allo again! I want to apologize for slow updates, it'll probably happen every month or so. Also, I'm American, so while I try to use what little British terminology I know as accurately as I can in meaning and characterization, feel free to correct me if you think a different word would be more appropriate.

DISCLAIMER: Still don't own it. I do now own a mini-plushie of Legolas, but that's a story for another time.

So. Allons-y?

* * *

><p>Doctor Who: Days of Future Past<p>

By: Celestialdome

II

Here it Goes Again

The second time just had to happen at work.

Donna Noble had never been so embarrassed in her life. She didn't _dare_ stop running until she got to the bus stop. It seemed that she still had a bit of luck, seeing as there was a bus already at the little shelter, waiting. Getting on the bus that would take her to Cheswick, she suddenly had time to review her actions. She had just accosted a complete stranger! And the poor man! How many questions had he gotten from gossiping bystanders? But still, it felt like she had known him before?

Felt like he was a good friend.

But, seeing as the bus had reached her stop, Donna stopped dwelling on these things.

That night, Donna Noble dreamed. She dreamed terrible things. Of funny yet undeniably frightening creatures. They called themselves Daleks. She dreamed of the man she met on the street, both of them. And for some reason she could hear them in the back of her head. And it felt so _right_. She dreamed of twenty-seven missing planets. She dreamed of bees. She dreamed of a tan-skinned doctor lady about to commit mass murder and suicide all at the same time.

She dreamed of a pink-and-yellow human girl.

She dreamed of _remembering_.

And then she woke up.

Donna Noble was feeling utterly under the weather. She felt like she was burning and the massive headache wasn't helping. Nor did the fact that she couldn't remember her dream last night despite the fact that she knew she had to.

That didn't make sense. And yet it did.

Either way she was quite content to roll over and try to sleep again. However, her alarm clock had other ideas.

Groaning, she fumbled around for the right switch that would shut the infernal device off. Glancing at the electronic clock, she noticed it was Saturday. Why would she set an alarm on Saturday? And then she remembered. The Job Centre had placed her as a temp at an organization, though they were reluctant to tell her the name or their affiliation. Though they assured her that it would be like any other temp job. Answering phones, delivering mail, doing small jobs no one else had time to do.

"Donna, love, pancakes are nearly ready," her father quietly announced as he made his way from the doorway to the bed. His smile disappeared as he took note of her pallor. Sitting on her bed, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, she didn't seem to have an unusually high temperature. "Sweetheart, are you feeling well? Maybe you should go back to sleep," he suggested.

Donna playfully shoved him off the bed, "Can't be late on the first day," she mumbled not quite coherently. Her father's brows knit together for a moment as Donna went through her drawers looking for undergarments.

"That's right, you have that job now," he commented, rather lamely. Donna nodded silently. "What kind of job asks people to come in the next day?" he mused.

"It's a job that pays, I'm not complaining," she replied.

"But you look like you're about to come down with something, the stress of the first day won't help that," he protested, but one look at his daughter and he knew his efforts were futile.

"I feel fine, I'll be even better after I have something to eat. Now are you going to leave so I can change or not?" she retorted.

Trying to lighten the mood, gave her a once-over. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he joked.

He at least had good enough reflexes to close the door before he was hit with a brasserie.

* * *

><p>Dragging her hands down her face, Rose Marion Tyler-Smith sat back in her chair. As if her day hadn't gone bad enough already,now her phone just had to quit on her too. She desperately needed to check on the status of a project going on down in the tech lab and couldn't go down herself to see since it's intended recipient was waiting in the lobby and would surely see her if she made the trip and would want to come along.<p>

So thus, the phone was crucial.

And it was broken. This day was awful. Completely pear shaped.

A nock on the door frame startled her. Turning to the full upright position she motioned for the guest to enter. "Um, sorry for the intrusion Mrs. Smith, but you have mail," she hesitated for a moment, "And a visitor in the lobby, he's … quite _impatient_ to see you," the female voice was a surprise. Rose looked at the woman and took stock. She was probably a good head taller than herself, even without heels, and was shifting on her feet from the attention. Mid-back length dark blonde hair framed a fair-skinned oval face with full lips, small nose and almost-green hazel eyes.

"Mrs. Smith?" Right. She should stop staring. It was a bad habit of hers, looking at people and seeing if she could name their counterpart from the other world.

"For that man, impatient is an understatement. Burnt up a sun once to say goodbye," She absently mused, pushing papers around, desperately trying to appear busy. Which was hard. The Department of Technological Development and Application didn't get much business anymore, at least none that needed her approval. "You're new here aren't you?" it wasn't a question.

Taking that as her queue to come in even further, the young woman gave a quick half smile. "Yes, I'm the new temp. And I believe his exact words were, 'She spends enough time in that smaller-on-the-inside office of hers already without working Saturdays, and, OH! Tell her I can't help it if we miss our reservations seeing as I don't have a time machine anymore,'" she laid the few envelopes on the corner of the desk, paused and then continued, "Are you having a bit of a bother with your phone?"

Rose nodded, "I'd be out of here soon, but I need to make a call to the Tech Lab, and my phone's being all…wonky." The girl's head snapped to the offending phone and her vision focused to a death glare. Rose was about to comment, when she suddenly spoke.

"Rose Tyler!" she exclaimed. Gone was the polite reservation, replaced by a slightly snarkier tone, but as if it was in jest. "Rose Tyler," she repeated, "you can build a time machine from a few mirrors, halogen lights and a dying TARDIS. You can frighten an entire legion of Daleks, yet you can't manage a simple twenty-first century Earth phone? Really, all the phone is, is a modified computer. You just have to know the right combination of key strokes. A combination you'd have to be crazy to try. Which, luckily, I just may as well be." Her long fingers then started to punch a seemingly endless string of keys as she went on about the phones. Rose noticed that her other hand had tightened on the envelopes and the edge of the desk, threatening to break off the lip. Angling her head, Rose looked at the girl's face, her pupils had almost eaten up and replaced her irises, and her eyelids refused to blink. The phone re-booted, and Rose lightly touched her shoulder, shocking the young woman. Her eyes refocused, even as her breathing remained ragged.

Rose kept her hand on the girl's shoulder, hoping it would help calm her. "Are you ok? What's your name? I'll call medical for you," she said slowly.

"Donna Noble," she breathed.

And then she ran.

It took Rose a few moments to process what had happened. Shaking her head, she picked up the phone and dialed the extension for the lab.

Finishing her call, Rose glanced up to see husband leaning against the doorway. Maintenance had originally gave uproar about her painting the frame and jamb. But Pete had assured them it was quite alright. She gave a wide tongue-and-teeth smile. "So who was that who ran from your office like the hounds of hell were loose?" he questioned in their old familiar tone of play, "I think I might have seen her on the street the other day."

Rose stood up and shuffled a few papers. "Donna Noble," she replied.

Her husband's face went pale. "Wot?" his voice was quiet now.

Rose just solemnly nodded, "She's the new temp. Her name's Donna Noble," her tone, while upbeat announced the topic closed for the night. Giving her husband another smile, she grabbed his hand. "Allons-y?"

He gave her his own maniac smile, "Allons-y!"


End file.
